The Undeniably Unbalanced Tale of Snow the Seducer
by kaleighlu
Summary: Never underestimate a Hufflepuff with wits as big as mine. I said 'wits'. Behave yourself.
1. Chapter 1

o1. cockney trampitis and it's effects

**Bon-fucking-jour.**

**Friday 9th November, 1943.**

Beginning to swear like a cockney tramp. Which, coincidentally, is my chosen career path.

Much to the disdain of the loosely termed 'Professor' Slughorn.

"Such vulgarity is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Miss Snow. Ten points from Hufflepuff." My fellow Puffs nearly burst into tears when I smirked across the room at them. I refused point blankly to take any serious notice of this 'class' anyway. Seriously, "Careers in Magic"?

I can point out many things that makes this idea a shit one:

Numero uno: This is obviously just a desperate ploy from Dippet-el-Dick to get Hogwarts back into The Daily Prophet's good books after Myrtle-gate. As if eighteen chairs in a circle and the odd "Minister of Magic? Well let's hope you don't die an untimely, suspicious and undignified death in the girl's shithouses." is enough to redeem the school for passing off a healthy girl dying as the work of an overgrown spider and his furry owner. Give me a break.

Two: Slughorn? Really? Out of all the possible teachers that could be chosen to have this 'class' you chose Slytherin-till-I-die(an-untimely-suspicious-and-undignified-death)-Slughorn? Nine people had gone before me and the only ones he'd seen as worthy of anything other than tea ladies on the Hogwarts Express were Slytherins. Abraxas Malfoy for example, who does bollocks all ever, apparently has the required attributes of a Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Yet I barely qualify as a Troll Trainer. What utter shit.

The third reason is simply: "Crabbe, dear Boy, how about you?"

"Well... er... Sir... I er... I want to be Headmaster." Are you fucking _joking_?

And so when the crazy wagon hit me I had to peel my jaw off the floor and think of a snappy answer.

"What would you like to be when you leave Hogwarts, Miss. Snow?"

Seventeen pairs of eyes stared at me. Me, sat there like a man, with my foot on my other knee, lounging back into my seat.

"Well Sir, with your last report home to my dear Mama teamed with the fact I'm a lowly Hufflepuff, I should think a common street whore is my best, if not only option. What say you?" A sharp intake seemed to be the popular theme in our "circle of trust".

"Such vulgarity is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Miss Snow. Ten points from Hufflepuff." Slughorn readjusted his glasses and motioned for his floating quill to scribble something down. "Now. A serious answer, if you please, for the sake of my list."

Fine. You fat, lump of judgemental sh-

"Well if it's for your pointless list, how could I say no? Put down: Potions. Professor." I held the 's' and snuck my tongue between my teeth, ignoring the spittle flying from my lips as I did so. And for extra emphasis, "At Hogwarts." The quill scribed. "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Slughorn mopped his brown. "In the dungeons." His face was turning red. "Replacing..."

"Miss. Snow, that is quite enough."

"...You."

"GET OUT, MISS. SNOW. I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH AN ATTITUDE." He stood, bellies wobbling all crazy like in my direction. "That is a detention." As I gathered my stuff he was fixing himself and beginning to giggle. "Like a girl could achieve such a position- preposterous."

Needless to say, I slammed that fucking door.

Pathetic class anyway.

Half past one on a Friday.

What could a girl my age possibly do on a Friday when she has no lessons and an increasingly bad reputation?

Plus. What's so wrong with being a lady of the night? It's a perfectly apt profession. Saying that, Slughorn would probably find it a bit awkward if he turned up at Bertha's Big Burlesque and Bedroom for an afternoon of 'how's-your-father' and found me ready and raring to go. I bet that's his reason for getting so red faced about it all. If I was only really capable of the grades he often gives me it's hardly likely I'd even qualify for a prostitute. By no means had he predicted my 'O' in Potions. Unless of course he meant to write 'O' and accidentally wrote 'D'.

I made my way to the girl's bathrooms on the second floor, needless to say they were eternally deserted since the whole murder debacle, but I was less than bothered. Anyway, Myrtle's wails were enough to ward off any beasty. I'm all for her being able to rest in peace but please God could she have not rested in it literally? I slammed my bag by the sink, grinning at the succinct moan from the far cubicle. My eyes drifted there momentarily.

Utility.

That's what my pretty bag was all about. I'd cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on it at the beginning of the year for extra clothes in case of emergencies. Well what's the point of Wizard space if you can't bloody use it?

"Stop using my bathroooooooooooooooooom."

"Say 'please', Myrts'." I felt a heavy rush of freezing air as I changed out of my robes and into a pencil skirt. I could see the icy blue of her dismal being drifiting in and out of the corner of my eye.

"Are you_ sick?_ A girl _died_ in here. I was_ murdered_. It's dangerous." She paused when I gave no reaction, crossed her arms and then hissed out. "You look like a dirty harlot."

I leaned into the mirror and applied more cosmetics, hiking up my bra, "Myrtle, we could have been very good friends."

Her mouth opened and shut twice before she leaned right into me and spat (well, tried to), "I would never be 'friends' with somebody so _promiscuous._"

"Wow... Wow. _Ouch_, Myrtle. You should have been in Slytherin." I winced comically, tipping everything back into my bag before turning to her and bending my knee in a pose. "Be honest, do I look too _living_ in this outfit?"

Her screech made me laugh as I left the bathroom and ran up to the fourth floor. It was hardly running, to be utterly honest, because of my whore-worthy skirt. It was knee length and black, for propriety's sake, just also impossibly tight.

There was a passage way behind the mirror upstairs that led to Hogsmeade, it all just depended on whether or not anyone was skulking around as to whether I could use it. If they were I'd probably be fucked anyway, seeing as though I was wearing such 'promiscuous' clothing.

But, if I did get caught I'd go on a huge rant about Slughorn's unableness to help me plan a proper career and burst into heaving great big sobs.

But alas, I didn't. Because I am fantastic and stealthy.

Destination of choice, you ask?

The Hog's Head.

I'm a little more adventurous than my fellow students, who tend to opt for the light hearted Three Broomsticks. No. Hog's is the place for moi. Mainly because it's full of middle aged men who appreciate me for me. And see my potential.

As a hooker.

And there's also the fact they'll serve me as much Firewhisky I need to kill several murderous arachnids.

But I don't tend to attack insects, so my liver will suffer instead.

The Hog's Head, in all fairness, could be seen as cosy. If you... scrape out all the sawdust and ignore the ripe stench of failure and faeces. No, it didn't smell of the latter. The former was more than pungeant, however. I took my usual seat under the guise of a lady just finishing a day of work at some shop on Diagon Alley. "A shot of Vodka in some pumpkin juice, when you're ready, please."

Muggle vodka is literally the nicest thing since- since ever. I had it at my mum's annual 'Xmas Gala Funday for Family and Friends'. Mother was thrilled at this being the first time she met one of my 'special' friends, read: another Witch. May have been the biggest mistake ever, taking Lucinda Braun to a gathering of Muggles and then funnelling spirits down her throat. Her vomit had a whole chocolate frog in it that started leaping around, shouting the odds. I had to call in an Obliviator and got severely 'told off'.

Needless to say I was off the wagon for the next... week?

And then I found the Hog's head. Since September I've just been coming in every now and again, having a few too many and then holding my churning stomach as I stumbled back to the passageway.

Tonight would be no different and I would be incredibly excited for it.

Maybe it's the feeling, as I would lay in bed, watching the roof wobble and my curtains cackle, of utter sensibility that caked my brain that I loved so much. Maybe it was the light feeling in my toes, the softness of my bed, the-

"Ayt' sickuwz'."

I handed over the eight sickles I think the halitosis suffering barmaid asked for and began to nurse my tumbler, arching my back till I looked like a disfigured old man. Less likely to be asked for some form of I.D if you looked too unapproachable.

And so there the story goes, one sixteen year old girl, sat on her own in a run down old taverna, supping away at very strong liquers till she could feel her stomach pulsating.

Until the clock struck ten.

Or eleven.

Or twelve.

I can't actually remember what the time was, but at some point I was falling through the passageway and flat onto the stone floors of my 'beloved' school. I know some people go on about how much it means to them and sure, it's nice and pretty. But it's school. School. I was a mediocre student, so I didn't await deserved awards like my life depended on it, nor was I allowed- having a vagina- to partake in any Quidditch competitions.

The House Cup, obviously, was not really of any consequence whatsoever to me. Hufflepuff have won it exactly zero times in the past, what, century? I doubt they've even got that to be quite honest. In fact, I make it my civic duty to make sure we get a record low on points every year. I'm aiming for minus numbers What other types of special awards would I never recieve or partake in recieving?

That one Tom Riddle got for exposing Big Foot as a mad mass murderer.

Special Award for Special... Something.

It was some long vague alliteration, the type this place is synonymous with.

But, anyway, I didn't deserve one. Apparently.

Dumbledore often grinned at my misbehaviour, simpering out, "You, my dear, are from a different time."

Alien, I suspect he means, because I'm certainly not old fashioned.

I think the way I am (total drunkard) is really just the fault of my parents and I am the lowly result of their out of marriage copulation. In all fairness, though, we were indeed a jolly holly happy fucking family. One of those bordering insanity with the right amount of wit mixed in. For example, on receiving my Hogwarts letter my mother actually let her bowels cover the entire dinner table. My dad stealthily removed his plate beforehand and continued to munch his potatoes cooly, simply murmuring "Wonder if you can bloody magic that bedroom of yours tidy." I like to tell myself I am more his daughter than the psycho covered in her own vomit screaming at me about Joan of Arc probably being a real Witch after all.

I gurgled out a very distasteful burp, sliding along the wall, back pressed firmly against the rock as I did so. Whatever it took, I was not going to be discovered by prefects nor teachers. There had only ever been one time I'd been discovered, by Gorgsprout, the astronomy (not a real subject) teacher. I pretended I was jinxed by a Slytherin and oh man, she fell hook line and sinker.

The sheer memory made me grin, grabbing my hips and doing a champion's lunge. I don't quite know why I was filled with such a feeling of triumph through one single movement, but I was.

I seemed to tumble my way down a few flights of stairs, constantly scaring myself by promising as I crossed the bit where the steps met the landings that I would most definately plummet to my death. That was always one thing that baffled me. Why had no one ever fallen into the deep, black hole? Probably some type of enchantment on the edge of the staircases but EVEN SO, scary. Scary shit.

I heard some footsteps as I reached the Entrance Hall and quickly hid in an alcove with a massive stone statue. Where the fuck had this come from? I swear to God this huge thing was never here before. What the fuck was it? Was it an owl? Was I stood behind a gigantic statue of an owl? Who the fuck, Wizard or not, keeps a bloody owl statue?

"I swear to Grindelward, his parties are getting more boring everytime." A small, blonde girl was stomping down the corridor with a brunette in tow.

Ah, the elusive Slug Club nights. I would assume the two girls were Ravenclaw seventh years, they were headed toward the common room anyway. But swearing to Grindelward? Bit extensive.

Shit.

My head lolled forward onto the wing of the weird deity, jaw falling open because I didn't have the effort to keep it shut anymore. My arms hung down like cooked spaghetti strips and my knees bent inward. What a glorious sight of teenage angst I must have appeared. Swallowing down a whole load of spittle, I edged out of my cove about twenty minutes after the two girls went past, deciding it would be 'clear'.

Wrong.

"Snow."

I tutted loudly, rolling my back against the wall and closing my eyes. How bloody typical. What was the fucking point of hiding behind an oversized bird for so long, only to be caught as soon as I stepped- How the fuck did I end up in the kitchen?

A house elf peered up at me frightfully, yanking hard on the rag covering his body. "Please... Miss... You're on me..."

"Oh, shit! Sorry little buddy." I stumbled back, guilt flying into me at his big watery gaze, "Go... Go get yourself a nice big plate of... Little person food... What do you people eat? Well... Nothing, it looks like. Emancipated. Starving. Needy." I sniffed loudly, pushing gently on his shoulders and unleashing a whole load of vodka breath onto his little pointy nose. "Go, run, eat." I watched his scrawny person swarm back over to his little friends. "Prosper. Live long and prosper...ous. Prosperous. Preposterous." I moved in a small circle till I was facing the door and-

Tom Riddle.

"Don't start, Riddle, I can't be bothered to pretend to listen to you."

* * *

Tom Riddle despised sluts.

The epitome of the term "wanton" currently stood shakily in front of him. He'd administered a quick shot of legilimency on her when she was talking to the elf vermin but all he could find was empty space and pathetic giggles. The stench of alcohol radiating from her form was vile in itself.

Tom rarely drunk, if he did it was a single shot of something strong after training his followers, to calm his bones. It was pitiable, he thought, to be in such a sorry state as the parasite lurching back and forward in front of him.

Her type was the extinguishable.

At this moment in time, Tom really had little effort to deal with such a case. He had spent the better half of the night trying to explain the necessity of the Cruciatus Curse in the Room of Requirement. He was beginning to doubt the ability of his chosen few, something he really didn't need right then. Dumbledore was becoming far too suspicious, the talk on the stairs at the end of last year all but proved the fact. And to top it off. the Basilisk was becoming restless, it wanted out. But for now, his meagre prefect rounds were becoming unnecessarily troublesome.

"Why aren't you in your dorm, Miss..." He trailed off, sneering down at the smaller female. He didn't bother with the false, pleasant Prefect act he'd perfected, she wouldn't remember this conversation come the morn.

"Snow, Riddle. It's Snow."

Tom knew her name, how could he not? It was his job, after all.

"The elusive Miss. Snow. Now I am not so surprised by your condition."

The blonde only grinned back, smoothing down blonde curls.

Tom felt a familiar and favourite anger threading through his veins at her complete lack of respect. Not only was he a prefect and a hero but he was also a _male_.

"Whoever gossips about little old me? Was it a teacher who informed you of my corruption? Or am I the talk of the Slytherin common room?" She tumbled back in what looked like high heels, falling into the moonlight coming through a tall window.

"As a prefect I am learned as to the troublemakers within my year group." And to their fate. "Your name is one I am synonymous with."

"But my face was not." Her reply was quick but the dozy smile that accompanied it, surely booze fuelled, quelled any wit within.

"Do you realise how many rules you are breaking, Miss. Snow?" She opened her mouth but he cut her off immediately, "Four. Serious regulations that can result in, not only suspension, but _expulsion_."

Pleasure whipped through him as her cocky smile fell.

"The first, being out of bed past hours. The second, being intoxicated on school property." He stepped closer to her form. "The third, being dressed in inappropriate _Muggle _clothing and-" His palm closed over her wrist and yanked her body toward him. "Speaking to a prefect in such a vulgar and disrespectful way."

Fury flew across Snow's face and she whipped away, grabbing her arm where he had and hissing. "And what about psychical assault, Riddle, where in your rule book is that?"

"Don't be pathetic child. You will struggle in life if you think being grabbed is all your kind will have to cope with."

Confusion scratched its way across her expression. "My kind?"

Tom Riddle took a second to stare down the girl.

In the bluish light that bathed her again. Her features were pretty, to an extent, in the regularly acknowledged sense of the word, her eyes had a yellowish tint within the greet, her pupils dilated through the Muggle drink. Her waist was small and tight, her breasts almost too large for her small form but balanced with big hips. Agreeable, in the eyes of his peers perhaps, but all Riddle saw was the crudeness of her character.

"My kind, Riddle?"

* * *

He was pulled back to recognise a sobriety occurring in her gaze and slipped into his usual persona. "Females, Miss. Snow. It's not easy for females."

His smile was almost blinding and I felt a tingling in the bottom of my stomach. In my defence, I highly doubt any female could really look at the killer grin and not want it between her thighs. I gasped for air to prevent a enormously repulsive burp and instead tilted my head.

"Riddle, do me a favour and let me off this time?"

"Fine, Miss. Snow. But if I catch you again I will have to report you to your head of house." He nodded toward the door, "I trust you will find your way okay?"

I grinned at my small victory, rolling my palm across his shoulder and obtaining his eye contact as I snuck by, "Cheers Riddle, this won't be forgotten."

A sigh of relief crackled through me as I reached the steps down to the dorms.

No more alcohol.

...

Dear me.

* * *

**disclaimed uuvryythannng**


	2. Chapter 2

o2. i was put on this earth to ruin slytherin

**Saturday 10th November, 1943.**

"Did you go to the Hog's again last night, Snow?"

Ahh Lucinda, I sometimes wonder where you got all your intelligence from, such an enviable trait to have. What gave it away, was it the note I left for you or the stench of vodka vomit lurching from the bathroom this morning? "Yes."

I leaned forward to dump a few sausages on my plate, ignoring the furrowing of her brow. Braun, you poor creature, what kind of job would Slughorn give you? … Perhaps Groundskeeper. Replacing Ogg. You do have the same shaped beard after all.

I choked slightly into my pumpkin juice, imaging the brunette across from me with a gigantic bush on her chin.

"How was it?" There was an eagerness on her face that I'd seen before, whenever this conversation came up in topic to be fair.

I sighed as she pushed my elbows off the table, "Look, Lucy, I've told you. Come with me."

"Do you realise how many rules you were breaking?"

A hazy apparition of Tom Riddle's chest appeared in front of me from last night and I shrivelled my nose, "Three?"

"Jesus, Snow, you're already on a red warning."

Ah, the intangible and obscure 'warning' system. Introduced before Myrtle-gate. I believe Hagrid-the-ladykiller received the 'black' warning, or, in laymen's terms, was expelled. Another bright idea from Dippet. "I'm aware."

"Maybe you shouldn't go anymore. Plus," She began to gnaw on some eggs, swallowing before stating, her fork pointed at me, "it's _weird_."

I lowered her utensil with my index finger. "Enlighten me as to how you've come to this conclusion."

"What conclusion?"

Oh let's share everything the entire Great Hall at breakfast. I stared as Toby Stewart sat down next to me, rolling my eyes. He was hardly a friend and barely an acquaintance, but he liked to stare at Lucinda when she wasn't looking. Which, in my opinion, is a slight creepy.

"She keeps sneaking out on Fridays."

I glared at Lucinda, "Do you have the ability to shut your fucking mouth at all?"

Lucy was desensitised to my language, but I felt Toby stiffen beside me. "What do you mean, sneak out?"

"What the hell do you think I mean, Einstein?"

"Einstein?" Toby's eyebrows were approaching his hairline, two great bushy slugs that were in dire need of some loving.

"Are you kidding me? Einstein... Einstein!" At his perplexed look I gave up, chucking a slice of toast onto his clean robes and smearing them with thick butter. This time _he_ swore.

"Watch your fucking language, Tobes." I grinned, leaving the great hall and Toby wiping at himself half-heartedly.

"Miss. Snow, a word?" I sighed, shoulders drooping at Dumbledore's familiar voice. Of course, I decided, Riddle has dobbed me in it. The little shit. I turned, plastering on my shit-eating smile and following his beckon toward his office.

To say I was infallibly bored of this place would be an understatement. The grotesque brown stone walls were less enchanting and more lacklustre, the pupils were less than entertaining, each and every one having to walk bolt upright due to a giant stick up their rectum and the teachers unashamedly sexist. Don't get me started on the subjects- Divination? No, thank you.

"It has come to many of the Professor's attentions, Miss. Snow, that Hogwarts may not be as fulfilling for you as it is other students." Dumbledore's eyes had that twinkle in them as I sat down across from him, folding my legs to the side.

I droned back in a fully monotonous voice something like, "Oh no, Sir, why ever would they think that?"

A small chuckle trickled down his beard and I exhaled.

"Well that is a shame, Miss. Snow." He curled his fingers together, eyes scaling the high walls of the room till they reached the Sorting Hat.

I knew he did it on purpose to drag my gaze there, although I wasn't fully certain why. Well, tell a lie, I wasn't even a little bit certain. I had no clue, but I decided to humour it.

"Why isn't the Sorting Hat in Dip- the Headmaster's office?"

Apparently I had asked the right question, because the older man sat forward, "I required it for a few days." It suddenly rose up and landed gracefully on the desk in front of me.

I watched, slightly perturbed at its wrinkly brown... face? Six years I had known about the magic world and yet some things still weren't _right._

"Ah, Miss. Snow." The growly, masculine voice emitted from the material made me jump out of my seat. I coughed, sitting back down and offering a small smile.

A silence followed. Was I meant to reply?

"Hello... Hat..."

Dumbledore let out the tiniest gurgle of a laugh before his attention fell back onto the headwear with eager eyes.

"You were the most difficult student I have ever faced, my dear." The hat hissed out, a cheeky little tone twisting through the air.

The revelation made my brow fall.

"In what way? Surely it was simple. Hufflepuff was simply the only place that I was suited to" I scoffed, picking lint off of my shirt. "Because, let's be honest, I am not enough of a little devil to be a Slytherin. I mean, sure, I like to look in the mirror as much as the next person, but I won't do anything possible to achieve something because that, dear Hat, is far too much effort." I settled back into my chair.

"And nor am I as dull enough as a Ravenclaw to reject a social life to become an underpaid Auror. And Gryffindor, no man left behind? Behave. It's not big nor clever to sacrifice yourself." I shrugged beneath a fallen curl, tossing it back. It was only the truth and to be honest, I was finding this whole therapy session just on the right hand side of utterly pointless. "Hufflepuff. It's where I belong. I mean, minus the loyalty thing, and the patient and honest bits, I'm through and through a 'Puff. I have no other place."

Well, the Hat found this just fucking _hilarious_ and Dimblydaw found it just as amusing.

"Oh Miss. Snow, you do speak so bluntly for a girl of your age." The Hat was quelling his chuckles as he bellowed out the sentence.

I let a tight smile form before folding my arms, "I'm awfully sorry, Sir, but what is the purpose of this?"

Dumbledore only nodded back to the Hat.

"Indeed. You really were my biggest opponent, Miss. Snow." Oh, here we go.

"I am sure you are aware, Miss. Snow, of your possessing the brain of a Ravenclaw. Perhaps a great one."

"Now, stop there, Hat. Bit extreme."

He merely chuckled, "Perhaps, yet if you strived for it, no soul could deny you the title."

"So why not? Why not put me in Ravenclaw?" My stomach was tight and yet I had no idea why.

"Because I saw you destined for Gryffindor."

I refused to grab at the hat and chuck it out the window, "So, indulge me. Why not Gryffindor?"

"You have this uncouth streak, Miss. Snow, although I do not mean to insult, which would drive the hearts of those Gryffindors to the tops of their sanity. Gryffindor is about team units, my dear, and I couldn't see you as able to adapt to this. You are, without doubt, born to be alone."

"Oh bloody fantastic." For some reason I felt sharp tears but sucked them back into my skull. "Slytherin? If I'm so bloody awful, Slytherin would be perfect, no?"

"No, I could not place you in Slytherin at age eleven for you are too fair of heart, whether you choose to believe it or not and would not have prospered within the dungeons. You are quite remarkable, my dear, in your ability to treat elves, ghosts, humans and all creatures in the same manner as each other. I can tell you that trait is not a popular one. There are factors within the world, my love, within this very school, that see most as below them. In fact, almost all see themselves as above one thing or other. And yet you... But on the other hand, Miss. Snow, you are the personification of a Slytherin. Your mind is quick and witty, your soul strains to be alone and your heart knows what it wants and will strive to achieve it."

Dumbledore cut in when I clenched my fists till the blood ran from them. "I think, Miss. Snow, it would be for the best if I tell you why you are really here. He withdrew a book from the drawer of his desk. The cover was browned leather, worn and embossed yet I couldn't see it clearly.

"Wait, Professor." I turned back to the mind fuck worthy Hat. "Why Hufflepuff?"

The Hat seemed to smile.

"I feared the other houses would ruin you." I frowned, feeling the muscles of my lips heavy. "Hufflepuff, Miss. Snow, would be the only place in which the future you are destined could really be catered for. There is a lack of necessity for one singular factor in Hufflepuff. They do not push for intelligence, nor glory, nor courage. Instead, those within Hufflepuff accept the extraordinary and indulge it's needs."

"So what now?" I gasped out.

"You are to make History, Miss. Snow. You will swap houses."

"What the _fuck_?" Both the teacher and hat visibly winced but I could only see red, I gripped my chair and stood up. Maybe in hindsight it was a slight over reaction but _come the fuck on_. Swapping houses? I know I hadn't made the biggest friendship group in Hufflepuff but I quite liked the power status I'd gained. "To what House?"

The Hat boomed one word.

And then I boomed a much more vulgar one back.

.

"I cannot believe this." Slughorn was muttering under his breath as he pushed his way through a series of doors down in the dungeons.

Well neither can I, you overgrown toad. I'm carrying all my worldly possessions through the school just because a hat wanted a bit of excitement in his life? Do you really think I want to be in Slytherin? I'll last a day, tops. An hour will probably be a struggle. You'll find me bound up on the astronomy tower by my feet with my intestines wrapped around my head like a crown. Or something as equally gross.

"Absolutely preposterous. No credentials of a Slytherin whatsoever."

"I'm rather good at Potions." I interjected. Despite the fact I haven't once been invited to your little club.

"You rather average at Potions, Miss. Snow. You clearly managed some sort of cheat within you exam, or perhaps you were just extremely lucky."

"Is this allowed? Like, are you allowed to say these things? Aren't you meant to be all exhilarating and supportive of your students?"

Slughorn ignored me, taking a sharp breath before entering the common room, where he had apparently called a team meeting.

As soon as I entered the room carrying a suitcase, shouts rang out in an incoherent roar.

"Oh, I am also most excited to be here. Thanks for such a kind welcoming." I beamed back at my new friends, spreading my arms out and bellowing into the noise, "Who wants the first hug?"

Slughorn rose his hand and slowly, the room became quieter. He beckoned Tom Riddle toward him, who had motioned that he wanted to talk.

"Although I'm sure there is a perfectly good reason, Professor, it seems that Miss. Snow has a suitcase?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" I murmured beneath my breath, gaining sharp eyes from a few of my new house buddies.

Slughorn almost burst into tears, "The Sorting Hat changed his mind concerning Miss. Snow and has, for some really unknown and frankly unacceptable reason, chosen to swap her to Slytherin." Yet another load of noise occurred, to which I just offered a bigger smile and a few waves to my adoring crowd.

"Although the situation is far from... ideal, I'm sure we can adapt Miss. Snow to the behaviour of a true Slytherin. Or at least attempt." He looked at me from the corner of his eye and I'm sure it wasn't but I took this as a cue for my speech.

"I can't wait to be a part of your big slimy family. When is it we hug, then?"

"Professor." A girl interjected. I recognised her from our year, Amanda Nott. "There are no spare beds, whatsoever." She cast her gaze to me, smirking. "She can't stay."

"Actually, there is one." Tom Riddle was saying, probably waiting for extra house points from Slughorn for problem solving. Loser. "Since Katie left, the female Prefect's dorm is empty. Surely we can re-elect a new prefect to the room and Miss. Snow can have the remaining bed."

The poor teacher could only take off his glasses, sigh to the skies and shake his head, "Miss. Snow has been... unfairly... given the title of Slytherin prefect, _temporarily_." Another roar went up.

This great idea was actually one of Dippet's, again. He had decided being under the watchful eye of Riddle would straighten me up and that the young man was quite able to prefect the entire house alone. Or something. I personally, was fine with the idea of an entire dorm half to myself. Bring on the big bed, I say.

"I guess that means, I'm in charge." I said, sticking out my chest and tossing my hair, aiming my perfect grin over at the Nott girl, who was furiously chattering with a bunch of evil eyed teenagers.

"Not at all." Slughorn reiterated with a sharp tone in his voice. "You cannot, thank Salazar, administer decisions without asking Mr. Riddle first. Your position is not with benefits, Miss. Snow."

I shrugged, "Win some, lose some." I flexed my weakening hands, "Now, where am I going?"

"I believe that is with me, Snow." Riddle barked, although politely in front of the Professor. There was a darkness behind his eyes that I felt sure would murder me in my sleep. Note to self, double, triple, quadruple lock door.

He led me out of the common room down a dark corridor and I swear I had to hold in disbelieving laughs all the while. What the actual hell was going on? Dumbledore just left me with a curious, cryptic line about me understanding one day why it was such a necessity I swap. Apparently, the Hufflepuffs had all sobbed when they found out I was leaving.

Albeit, with relief.

Don't get me wrong, I had no emotional connection with the house. I'd just do anything for an easy life and this would in no way be easy. And it probably wouldn't have life. I'm going to be mercilessly slaughtered in my sleep.

"That is your room." Riddle pointed at one door but stopped me as I turned toward it.

There was a silence... "Fabulous. I'll take my leave then, you handsome devil."

"Why are you here?"

I frowned, cocking my leg at the knee, "You know why I'm here, big boy, Slughorn told everyone."

Tom Riddle suppressed a snarl, smiling tightly instead and nodding, his back turning.

.

Insolent little bitch, they both knew the spiel the Slytherins were fed was a lie.

"Professor."

Slughorn clammed up as soon as the younger man made an appearance in his room, yet he tried to make his bones relax. Tom Riddle's presence was enough to make him quirk in his boots, the very thought was worse than humiliating. He smiled widely, "Yes, mi'boy?"

"I was just enquiring as to a more... refined reason for why Miss. Snow has joined us?"

Although a smile graced his pale lips, Riddle was already diving into the fat man's eyes and tearing apart his brain. He found nothing in there and nothing left the teacher's lips that he hadn't already known or heard.

Apart from Dumbledore's involvement.

The continuously suspicious Defence teacher was already on his case and so Tom would be a Muggle if he did not recognise the obviousness before him. She was here on the old man's will. A sudden need to laugh overcame his body. Dumbledore was a fool to send such a headstrong, pathetic creature as his little spy. Her vulgarity alone hardly gave her the stealth such a task may require.

It was his requirement to find out exactly what her plan was.

And he'd do anything for an answer.

.

Honest to God I could get used to this whole Slytherin thing.

Perhaps it was the utter silence as I entered the common room that I loved as it made me feel like some kind of Princess (about bloody time), or maybe it was the peace at the dinner table, at least fifteen seats away from any other living person. But either way, I could kind of get used to it. I did take a few minutes to fly up to Myrtle's bathroom and prance around in my new green tipped robes whilst she screamed on about me worshipping the devil. I also stopped by Hufflepuff's common room, where I was cornered by Lucinda.

It took me a good half an hour to convince her the rumours were wrong and I hadn't gone over to Slytherin because I was having it off with Slughorn and he wanted constant accessibility to me. Nor was I the one really at blame for Myrtle's death and so belonged in that house because apparently, that's where you'd put killers, not Azkaban.

I hate people.

But when she had calmed down and I'd made some stupid arse promise about going to see her every day for hours on end, she forgave me (?) and toddled off in her Hufflepuff way.

Sometimes I'm mortified to even know the thick bitch. Other times she brings me alcohol.

I slunk like the snake I am down to my new place of leisure, skulking around for a bit and checking out the stone walls and moving portraits. Salazar was especially ugly, all pointy angles and grey hairs in wrong areas. And the place is literally littered with snakey things.

A little bit more intimidating than Hufflepuff's racoon.

Is it a racoon? I mean, I should know, I did have it on my robes for nearly seven years.

"Riddle." I questioned, moving into our separate dorm, where he was sat at a desk with several books laid open. He didn't look up but I knew he was listening, "What do Hufflepuff have on their badge?"

He tossed me a look over his shoulder, "I'm trying to get on with my work, Snow, please don't trouble me with your jokes."

I stomped my way toward my room.

"Snow."

Riddle's voice had dropped considerably since I'd first seen him on the train in the first year. When his testicles had actually resided within his neck or wherever they come from. Now it was deep, like, major deep and did strange but addicted things to my thighs. I grinned and span to face him. "Yes?"

"You're a fool."

My smile only widened, "Goodnight Riddle."

* * *

**people eat placenta. real placenta. cheeky bastards.**


End file.
